


Under Lilac Skies

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Animals, Chickens, Complicated Relationships, Cute, Fluff, Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 05:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18336893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: Drumknott was lying back, and he had a magazine loosely held in his hand, but it had fallen alongside his shoulder, loosely held there: seated upon his lap was one of the big hens from the coops, and Vetinari took a slow step forward, reaching out and gently stroking the hen’s back. It warbled quietly, but then was dislodged, falling against Drumknott’s knees.Mr Fusspot’s head popped up from where he was curled in a tight ball between Drumknott’s legs, from beneath the chicken.“Really, Mr Bank Chairman?” Vetinari asked.





	Under Lilac Skies

“Where’s Mr Drumknott?” Vetinari asked as he and Margolotta stepped into the library, and Miss Healstether looked up from her desk, where she was neatly adding reference cards to a pile of new books. She tilted her head slightly, and then drew a neat pocketwatch from her front pocket, glancing down at it.

“He left forty-two minutes ago, sir,” she answered politely. “I believe he was walking outside with Igor.”

Vetinari frowned, and looked to Lady Margolotta, who shrugged her shoulders, seeming amused. They had been playing a complicated Überwaldian boardgame for a little over an hour, using a variety of homebrewed rules in order to make the game worth playing against one another – it was, unfortunately, not a game they could play over the clacks, but it was an enjoyable pastime whilst they were taking a little time to relax.

It did not… _worry_ him, per se, that Mr Drumknott had gone out with Igor. Mr Drumknott was not opposed to being outside, in the way that some clerks and librarians were: he did not care for sport or rough play, but he liked very much when they took walks together even in nature, and he liked natural light well enough.

The Librarian, when he was a boy reading at the University Library, had often ushered him outside on sunny days and out of the foreboding dark of the Library itself, even beneath the skylight, and he was accustomed to spending time merely reclining upon grass, with paperwork – as he did when Vetinari chose to work outside – or with a book.

There was no sign of Igor when they came out into the grounds, under a sky that was more lilac than blue[1], and Vetinari moved across the yard, scanning for the boot prints in the ground still soft from the last night’s rain, and then following them. They came out to the chicken coops, and Vetinari looked at the birds as they wandered back and forth…

“Ah,” Margolotta said. “That is so _cute_ , Havelock.”

“I won’t argue,” Vetinari murmured, delicately crossing his arms over his arms. Drumknott was seated upon a stone bed that, Vetinari was aware, Margolotta sometimes sunned herself in – she had a few around the grounds of the castle, that she could be beneath the sun’s rays as she reclined back. She liked to do this, Vetinari knew, particularly when young and unsuspecting dignitaries – or, of course, members of the Grand Sneer – were visiting this year, that they might be caught off their guard by her state of undress, more than because she would tan. She _couldn’t_ tan.

Vetinari had been unaffected by the behaviour, and had merely been quietly confused by it, but he had respected the disarming nature of it, even if it had rendered some of his fellows on the Grand Sneer gibbering wrecks.

Drumknott was lying back, and he had a magazine loosely held in his hand, but it had fallen alongside his shoulder, loosely held there: seated upon his lap was one of the big hens from the coops, and Vetinari took a slow step forward, reaching out and gently stroking the hen’s back. It warbled quietly, but then was dislodged, falling against Drumknott’s knees.

Mr Fusspot’s head popped up from where he was curled in a tight ball between Drumknott’s legs, from beneath the chicken.

“Really, Mr Bank Chairman?” Vetinari asked.

Mr Fusspot looked up at him with two watery, stupid eyes, and Vetinari smiled, scratching at his ears as Drumknott sat up with a jolt, spreading out his hands, but Vetinari caught hold of one of them, and Drumknott looked blearily up at him, but then relaxed.

“I fell asleep,” Drumknott said quietly. The storm had kept him up last night, on top of being in a foreign bed, and Vetinari reached out, touching his fingers against the cool skin of Drumknott’s forehead and gently brushing back his slightly mussed hair.

The hen warbled, and sat back on top of Mr Fusspot and Drumknott’s legs: Mr Fusspot obediently laid down to let it, and Drumknott frowned, but reached out, his fingers brushing the bird’s feathers.

The frown faded into a slight smile.

“ _Adorable_ ,” Margolotta said. “I wish I could have one of you for my very own, Mr Drumknott.”

“I will notify you if one becomes available, Lady Margolotta,” Drumknott said guardedly, and Vetinari covered his mouth, turning his head slightly. Margolotta, too, was doing her best not to laugh, her waxed lips pressing tightly together as she gave a little nod of her head.

“We were going to walk into town, Mr Drumknott, to a restaurant in Bonk,” Margolotta said. When Drumknott looked uncertain, she added, “Miss Healstether will join us.” Drumknott relaxed, just slightly. This had nothing to do, Vetinari was aware, with Drumknott’s particular affection for the librarian, although the two of them shared much in common, and very much got on: he simply could not permit himself to join a lord and lady for a meal, for regardless of his personal connection to one, he would consider it an intrusion, a break of class expectations.

Absently, Drumknott’s fingers curled through the hen’s feathers, and Vetinari’s lip twitched.

“I will need to change,” he said quietly.

“Take your time,” Vetinari murmured, and he reached out to pat the hen too: his fingers entangled with Drumknott’s, and he saw the pinkness in the other man’s cheeks darken slightly.

“I will give you two some time, shall I?” Margolotta asked.

“If you have to ask…” Vetinari muttered meaningfully, and he heard her laugh as she walked away. He sat down on the edge of the tone bed, and Drumknott spoke to him, slowly coming more to wakefulness, about the article that had put him to sleep.

 

[1] This was Überwald, after all, and even a sunny day required a dose of the macabre.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up [on Dreamwidth](https://dictionarywrites.dreamwidth.org/2287.html). You can send requests [on Tumblr](http://patricianandclerk.tumblr.com/ask), too. Requests always open.


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